Porcelain
by NotQuiteKendall
Summary: *Had to upgrade the rating for smut.* Tate was able to save Violet from that horrible day in that claw-foot, porcelain tub. But at what cost? Chapter 4!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N_

_One-shot possible continuation...small Tate and Violet drabble of the beginning of an alternate late 2nd season. Just felt like posting._

**Porcelain**

As if the world weighing heavily on his shoulders wasn't enough, the water dousing his sweater just added to the pressure. It was the only thing that made sense: get her into the cold water and get her awake, get her responsive. He screamed out her name so much his voice was horse, as if he screamed loud enough he could snap her out of her comatose state. He shook her; gently at first but more furiously as she continued to remain motionless; wet, dead weight and greying skin.

"Violet!"

He shoved his fingers down her throat and she began vomit up the pills into the tub. He had never been so happy to hear the retching sound of someone spilling their insides, but it was music to his ears. He tried again. Not much was coming up, but he hoped it was enough to save her life. She was lethargic, droopy-eyed, confused. She could barely keep her head up, bobbing back in forth like a pendulum. He could hear her painful sobs of confusion and pain as he tried desperately to cover her with kisses, tried desperately to take away her pain.

"Violet? Violet!" Ben's voice bellowed from the doorway. His eyes evaluated the situation, his daughter and Tate embraced in the tub, before his brain could really comprehend what he was seeing. Without a second thought, Ben lunged forward, grabbing his broken doll of a daughter and hoisting her soaking wet body into his arms. She clung onto her father like she was three-years-old. Vulnerable. Frightened. She continued to half-consciously sob into Ben's chest.

"She took pills! A lot of them! I-I..I don't know how many," Tate announced hysterically, still prisoner in the porcelain tub. Ben looked down at his daughter's blue lips in horror. She was fading quickly. Vivien approached the bathroom, having run upstairs as soon as she heard a commotion.

"Call 911!" Ben demanded towards her. Fear washed over her face in waves, painting her white. An instant lump formed in her throat and her eyes burned.

"Ben, what's going on?" Vivien asked as evenly as she could, stepping towards him. Ben stopped her, he didn't want her to see Violet this way.

"Vivien, just call a goddamn ambulance!" He yelled, the vein in his neck protruding from the anxiety he felt pumping through him. Vivien backed up and ran to the phone. Ben sat Violet on the floor gently as she weaved back out of consciousness. He put his ear down to her mouth, trying to hear her slow, jagged breathing.

"I tried," Tate's voice shook, as he comfort rocked himself back and forth in the shower, water still pouring down upon him. "I tried to make her throw them up, I-"

"Why did this happen?" Ben asked frantically. Tate put his head in his hands. He knew the answer. He knew why. He had done this. She did it because she knew about him, about the fact that he was dead. Why he was dead, he couldn't remember. All he knew was that he was. And he had allowed her to fall in love with him. And he had fallen in love with her. And she couldn't handle the truth.

_So, are you afraid now?_

"TATE! I ASKED YOU A QUESTION," Ben screamed. Tate shook his head, tears mixed with shower water.

"I…I don't know."

But Ben knew damn well that wasn't the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Porcelain**

Chapter 2

_a/n – Originally only going to be a one shot but I've decided to continue it. I am planning on the chapters being shorter but more frequent. In this alternate fanfic Violet didn't die in the bathtub_.

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Violet fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. She tugged lightly on the uncomfortable bandages that dressed her wrists; the tape and the healing wounds made her skin itchy.

Dr. Samson tapped the pen to his lip, reading something on his clipboard. He cleared his throat. Adjusted his glasses. He seemed mildly irritated.

_Schizophrenia_, it probably said_. Highly delusional. Borderline Personality Disorder._ Over the course of six months and two suicide attempts, Violet had heard just about everything.

"I hear you discussed Tate Langdon in group therapy yesterday?" It was a question. But he already knew the answer. Violet averted her eyes to anything but his beady, black ones, which were magnetized behind his thick glasses. "This is correct?" he asked, his eyes desperately trying to meet hers.

"Yeah…" she responded, shamefully. Dr. Samson sighed, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes, exasperatedly. She swallowed, hard. She knew instantly that it wasn't the answer he was looking for. The lump in her throat was beginning to form and her eyes were already puffy from crying.

"How many months have you been here?"

"Four?" she guessed. Time ceased to exist here.

"Six, Violet. You've been here six months. You have had weekly hour-long sessions with me and countless group sessions. And we aren't any farther past your delusions than we were the day we checked you in." Violet wasn't sure what was making him more upset, the fact that she wasn't getting any better, or the fact that his fragile, doctor- ego was crushed from failing her. Either way, she'd never seen him take this tone with her.

"I miss my family," Violet said harshly. "I want to go home." Her quiet but stern determination warranted a double take from the psychologist. "My dad is a head shrinker. Why can't I just be with him?"

"I believe you know the answer to that, Violet." But she didn't know the answer to that. She didn't know the answer to anything since she had been there. She'd seen her parents whenever they could visit and each time she would ask them about Tate, to no avail. She was told he didn't exist. He did, at one time, but that he was a figment of her morbid imagination from stress, loneliness, and mental illness. But it couldn't have all been in her head, could it?

"How can I get home?" Violet asked, her tears spilling out. She wiped away her dripping nose and ran an exasperated hand through her hair. "I just need to say that Tate Langdon isn't real?" she spat. Dr. Samson closed her folder, reapplied his glasses and clasped his hands on his desk.

"No, Miss Harmon. We need you to actually _accept_ that Tate Langdon isn't real. We need you to actually _take_ your medication. We found your stash that you've been storing away." Violet's cheeks pinkened from the embarrassment of being caught. He stood, walking around his desk and leaning on it in front of her. "We need you to take the proper steps to get better."

Violet thought about that for a moment. Better. How she longed for a life of simplicity, before all of the hurt and the betrayal. Before the move and Hayden and the miscarriage. There was a time when everything was okay with the Harmon's; a time when she was happy. That nostalgic feeling left her feeling like a stranger to herself, like a child who had her candy stolen right out of her hands. If only she knew how to get that back, if only she knew how to forget about Tate.

Maybe she was sick, she wondered. Maybe it was all in her head and she was crazy. She sniffed back tears. She would shed no more. It was time to get out, and to get out she needed to get well. She took a deep breath.

"Okay," she said, "let's get started."


	3. Chapter 3

**Porcelain**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

He had counted the days since he had seen her last.

_243 days, 14 Hours and 34 minutes._

He felt like a dog, eagerly awaiting his master's return to no avail. The door never opened. She didn't walk in and pat him on the head and praise him for waiting so patiently for her.

Every day was the same, reliving moments they had together; some he didn't want to remember at all. He remembered finding her in bed like that, the pill bottle lying beside her, a dead giveaway of her true intentions that day. He kept replaying the horrifying moment in his head, over and over again, dragging her lifeless body down the empty hallway.

Over the course of the last 8 months, he had patiently waited, remaining hidden after hearing the prognosis.

_Schizophrenia_.

He knew it wasn't true… Violet wasn't crazy. Not by a textbook's definition. Had he driven her insane? Maybe a little. But she said she could handle it. She said she wasn't afraid of anything. And the part of him that so desperately wanted to be loved actually believed her. And now here he was, hiding in the shadows, following Ben around as he talked to doctor after doctor about Violet's "condition."

He knew the gist of it, as well. He knew that they were brainwashing her, trying to tell her that Tate wasn't real. And Ben, afraid of being dragged off to the loony bin along with her played along. Tate Langdon ceased to exist. There was no way Ben would admit that he had seen him, that he had counseled a dead guy.

The moments that passed since Violet had been locked up in the nut house seemed to drag on far longer than they should. Tate found it hard to even remember what he had done with his time all those years before Violet had come along, and when she left she left the hole even bigger. Now that he had known her, that he had loved her, he couldn't stand the time they were apart. Each day was endless agony as he waited for her. He'd wait forever if he had to. He intended to.

"And how much per month?" he had overheard Ben ask over the phone. "And that includes water, sewer and garbage?" Another short silence while Ben jotted down notes. Tate wasn't an idiot. He knew what Ben was looking for. A new house. They had spent the last six months trying everything to pay down the debt on the house and get it sold, to no avail. And now with the new baby, it was even harder to find a place that was affordable that could accommodate them all.

He continued to listen to Ben talk on the phone, pointless things like sun-rooms and two car parking. All the while, Tate knew what Ben was trying to do. Ben didn't want Violet to ever have to call this house home again. Ben knew Tate wasn't a fixation in Violet's mind, not some character she had concocted to deal with loneliness. She wasn't some obsessed, morbid, Westfield High fan-girl that fantasized about being with a dangerous boy. The fact was that Ben was terrified because he knew that Tate was real, he knew that Tate was just waiting for Violet returned to show himself again.

It was a secret that Ben couldn't even tell Vivien. Due to doctor/patient confidentiality, Vivien didn't even know Tate existed.

When Ben and Vivien sat in the doctor's office, listening to Dr. Samson spell out Violet's infatuation with a fabricated "imaginary" friend, Vivien's hand clasped to her mouth to cover a gasp, in awe that her daughter was so far detached from reality that she was seeing people who weren't there. When the doctor asked Vivien if she had ever heard of a Tate Langdon, she answered with a confused and bewildered, 'no." Ben, on the other hand, kept quiet. Realizing then and there that there was so much more to that house, more than he could ever explain, more than he could ever know. He knew the house could have claimed his daughter that night, and it suddenly became crucial to keep that from happening. Even if it meant keeping his daughter locked away while they did what they needed to do to sell the house and get them out of there.

And here he was, sitting on the phone frantically trying to find somewhere else to rent: Because today was the day.

_She comes home today._

He had heard Ben and Vivien talking about it more frequently, that Violet was 'responding well to treatment.' They would proudly beam that she was finally taking her medication to 'lessen her hallucinations and visions.' Tate knew what all that really meant. She was forgetting about him. She was starting to believe all their lies. That he wasn't real. That she was 'sick.'

The idea of what they were doing to her, all the pills and brainwashing, made him sick to his stomach. They were killing off the Violet he knew and loved, and he couldn't help but cry when he thought about just what that meant. Who was going to walk through that door? Would it be Violet, his Violet? Or would she be some lobotomized, Stepford version of herself? One that looked, smelled, and tasted like her but lacked all that was at her very core? And how would he ever see her again without sending her back over the edge?

He yearned for her, he missed her. He had waited so long and yet the last few moments before he would be able to gaze upon her face felt like an eternity. And before he knew it, as he sat hidden from Ben's view in the office chair, he heard keys in the door.

His heart jumped.

He heard the door creak open and saw daylight break through the opening crack, he felt as though he were staring into the sun itself. Outlines of human forms turned to backlit shadows, and soon turned into features. First Vivien, finishing off a joke that left her amused with herself, her red curls bouncing in the sunlight as she fought the lock to return her keys. And behind her, in all of her glory, was Violet herself. Her hair was cut, he noticed that right away. Much shorter than it used to be, but still full of shine and bone-straight. She was wearing something out of character for her. A pair of shorts and a tanktop, and her characteristically milky, white skin was bronzed and vibrant. Tate instantly knew something had changed, mostly because of the way she was smiling. The way she actually laughed.

He had heard her laugh before, of course, but only with him. The most she gave her mother was a half-hearted smirk when something amused her. Now, she laughed. She seemed…light. As if someone had cut away all of the darkness inside of her. He felt an instantaneous sinking feeling in his heart and gut. He had been right. They stole her and replaced her with an impostor. This wasn't the Violet he knew.

She walked by him, could have reached a little to her left and touched him completely. She whisked right past him and tackled her dad for a hug, shouting that she was so happy to be home.

She spoke. Her voice was the same; monotone. But there was a change in her tone, one that felt warmer and happier than he had come to know. He stepped back, suddenly feeling exposed even though he knew there was no way for that to be. He swallowed hard, suddenly losing his nerve and wondering if he could ever face her, THIS Violet. There was still so much she didn't know, maybe never would. She knew about the twins, that one had died in childbirth. She didn't know that they had two fathers. She certainly didn't know that Tate was one of them. That he had done unspeakable acts to her own mother.

The guilt and anxiety began building pressure as he realized how stupid he had been to pine for her for so long and never rehearse what exactly it was that he was going to even say to her when she finally came home. He supposed that over time he just thought he was never going to see her, it had certainly felt that way some times while he waited for her in the dark depths of the house.

"Would you like me to start dinner? Or let's go out! Mexican food, Vi?" Vivien said, her own voice rejuvenated from the joy Violet finally coming home. Violet smile politely and shrugged her shoulder a bit.

"I'm actually pretty tired…I think I'm just going to go to my room," she suggested. Ben and Vivien agreed, overly approvingly. It all felt like such a façade to Tate as he watched her parents try to baby and appease her. She took her overnight back and hoisted it on her shoulder and she exited the room and slowly scaled the long stairway.

When she finally reached the quiet sanctuary of her room, she dropped her bag with a big thud. She scoped around her room cautiously, everything looking untouched despite the nicely made bed and the absence of the pill bottle on the bed. She walked her room, gently touching each belonging as if conjuring up a memory. She turned and felt heat wash over her body as she saw the chalkboard, an eerie and familiar "I love you" scrawled across it in even more familiar handwriting.

_In his handwriting._

She walked to it slowly, extending her hand towards it as one would to pet a stray dog; riddled with caution and fear. She touched the chalkboard.

_It was real. It was all real. _

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath.

"Tate?" she asked into the empty room. She opened her eyes and peered around but saw no one. "You can come out now."


	4. Chapter 4

**Porcelain**

_Warning…this chapter is preeeetty risqué…I had to change the rating to M for some pretty detailed smut... you're welcome :). Didn't know I had it in me._

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**Chapter 4**

Tate sat, cross-legged on her floor. She couldn't see him, but he knew that she could feel him there. She slowly unpacked her bag, delicately laying her clothes in their familiar spots in her drawers. She looked pensive, constantly peering over her own shoulder, waiting for something.

Waiting for him.

He smirked to himself; it had been so long and yet he was still such a coward. Is this how it would be? Could he really just hang back and watched her anonymously until Ben sold the house? He knew he didn't have the strength for that; Tate was never good with will power. He watched her pace her room, peeking around corners like a child playing hide and seek. His chest felt tight.

Why am I so afraid? He thought to himself. But as quickly as he thought it, he knew the answer. In his mind, before he watched her walk back through the front door, he imagined throwing himself into her, taking in her sweet scent and covering her with kisses, professing his love and promising that he would make things right. How? He wasn't sure. But he had eternity to figure that out if she would let him.

But now, now that she was standing right in front of him, the thing he had longed for more than anything for months, he found that he had lost his nerve. He wanted her. He watched the way she moved, the way that she had filled out over the last few months, studied her gentle curves and sun-kissed skin. He traced the outline of her lips with his eyes, all the while trying to remember what it felt like when his lips her pressed to them, how she tasted. Before, it had always tasted of menthol cigarettes…but after he confessed his distaste for that, she always made sure to carry mouthwash with her, just in case.

She had wanted to please him. She wanted to give herself to him. And she would have, had she gotten the chance. But just like Tate's very life, that fantasy was cut short by dark despair and regret.

He would often imagine what that could have been like, to be inside of her. The very notion had kept him well-satiated during the time she was gone, and that nagging longing just had him wanting her all the more. It made him hard just to know that he would have been boldly and lovingly going where no man had gone before, that she would have belonged to him, giving him her solemn gift that was his to keep.

He pushed the torrid thoughts away from his mind as best he could, readjusting his growing member in his pants as he watched her plop down on the end of the bed. She heaved a heavy sigh and placed her head in her hands.

"Fuck," she breathed as one coming up for air after being held under water for far too long; as if it was the first time she had remembered and acknowledged the life inside of her after laying dormant for so very long. She chuckled to herself. How he wished he could climb into that ever-complex mind of hers and know what thought was bringing her amusement. She glanced around the room again.

"I know you're here," she whispered. Tate sat bewildered, knowing that keeping himself away from her wasn't just hard, it was going to be damn near impossible. His thoughts of this were multiplied as she reached for the bottom hem of her tank top. Tate swallowed hard and just prayed that she wasn't about to do what he thought she was about to do.

With a wicked grin, Violet pulled the tank top slowly, pausing midriff to reveal her toned and bronzed stomach. Tate eyed her intently. Without much effort, she hoisted it over her head and dropped it onto floor, revealing a turquoise bra that so delicately housed her pert, round breasts. Tate felt his mouth go dry and quickly found his footing, backing up to the door. He knew his self-control was tested enough as it was, he could never survive this if it kept going.

And she did keep going. Before he knew it, she was on her feet unbuttoning and slipping out of her tiny, denim shorts. He heard the button pop as it hit the hard wood floors, and she stood in black panties, still waiting patiently and glancing around the room for any indication that she wasn't alone.

Tate's hardened member ached under his jeans. And as much as he wanted to run away, he couldn't move, couldn't pry his eyes away from the sexy peepshow he was being given. He didn't deserve such a gift, he didn't deserve to have her.

"Fuck!" he let out, beyond exasperated with the pure, animalistic lust that lurked so closely to his surface, watching her reach behind her back and unclasp her bra, freeing two perfectly molded breasts. At that point, Tate couldn't take it anymore. Everything inside of him moved involuntarily as he stepped to her. She was so close he could smell her, brown sugar and vanilla. He stood in front of her, so close his lips almost touched her forehead. He could feel the heat radiating off of her in waves. She turned around, trying to fetch a blanket from her bed, leaving her in the compromising position of her tight ass, right up against the front of his jeans.

Something inside of Tate snapped, and not in a way that ended in mass murder this time. He appeared, although she didn't see him yet could suddenly sense his presence so much stronger than before. She felt hands on her bare sides, slowly canvassing her skin and rising up to cup her perfect, bare breasts. Violet let out a shudder as he squeezed them and pressed himself to her even tighter. His hands didn't move as she stood upright, feeling his lips connect to her neck.

"I knew you'd come out sooner or later," she purred as he massaged her chest from behind. One of his hands roamed down, petting every soft inch of her bare torso and trailing down to her panty line.

"How could I resisted?" he mused, muffled by his face in her neck. Without any warning, Tate whirled Violet around forcibly, facing her as he pressed himself to her and pulled her closely to him simultaneously. Violet could feel the huge bulge in his pants pressing against her fiercely, and found herself growing wet just from the anticipation and excitement that this was finally happening, something she had longed for and waited for for so long. This was the thing that kept her going those months in the hospital, this was all she had wanted.

Their eyes locked for the first time in eight months, and that electricity alone was enough to send them both over the edge. Tate tipped her chin back and threw his lips to hers passionately, engulfing her mouth with his as he pressed his tongue deep down her throat. She pawed and clawed at him, pulling his shirt up over his head and trying to climb him as they lost footing and fell onto the bed. Tate lost his pants quickly after that.

Tate trailed kisses all over her virginal body, breathing heavily as she moaned in sweet release. He took the moans as incentive to continue, kissing down until he found her black, lacy panties. He slowly and determinedly pugged at them, as they lowered to reveal her soft, milk skin still untouched by sunlight, the skin that reminded him of the Violet he knew before, a simple reminder of all they had come against.

She was shaven, something that didn't surprise him from all the times they had fooled around. She was already wet, awaiting his arrival. He shuddered at the notion that he would soon be inside of her, and marveled at the beauty of it all. He leaned down, placing gently kisses that made her giggle, but moan as well. She spread her legs wider, an open invitation for him. He began to lick her softly, building up momentum as she egged him on and her moans grew. She pushed up, begging for deeper and more intense contact so he brought up his speed, knowing by her shaking and shuddering that he was close to bringing her over the edge.

Then he found it; the sweet button that sent her into complete, nuclear meltdown mode. Violet shot up, grabbing a pillow and pressing it to her face to muffle the sheer sound of ecstasy that escaped her throat.

Once her breathing slowed and her legs began to stop trembling, Tate darted up, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to take much more, he could already feel the sensation arising solely from getting her off so hard.

Tate covered Violet like a blanket, feverishly kissing her lips, chin, neck and shoulders. He felt her hands reach down, down, down until she had gripped his throbbing cock tightly in her hands. The pressure alone made him feel light headed, like he could burst or pass out at any moment. She forcibly rolled Tate to his back and smiled her wicked grin, her hot, wet pussy pressing onto his abdomen. She began to lower herself, until her knees were between his. His eyes widened as he realized what she was doing, still gripping him in her hands and bringing her sweet mouth to the head of his cock. Tate choked back a gasp as she took all of him into her mouth, he could feel the head hitting the back of her throat as she bobbed up and down on it, swirling her tongue. The hot, wet, softness of her tongue and her amazing suction made him suddenly wonder if this was her first time; she sucked cock like a pro.

Tate quickly pulled her up off of him, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, her mascara smeared. He smiled at her tousled hair and sweaty forehead, such a hot, beautiful disaster.

"Of course not…"

"What's wrong?" she asked. Tate chuckled.

"If I didn't stop you I would have came right then and there." A smile crossed her pouty lips.

"Isn't that the point?" she asked. Tate laughed, shaking his head.

"Not yet..." he growled, flipping her back down under him. She spread her legs as he pinned her down, bringing both of her hands above her head. "I've not done with you yet."

With that, Tate pressed his cock to her opening. His eyes met hers with such dark intensity. She squirmed under him, trying to get used to the feeling, then nodded when it was safe to continue. Little by little, bit by bit, Tate began lowing himself inside of her. She was so tight, and still so wet, he didn't know how on earth he would last long enough to get her off again.

Soon, Violet's discomfort from losing her virginity lessened and it began to feel better and better, their pace quickening and her wetness lubricating them more. Before long, Tate was pumping himself in and out of her fiercely, deeper and deeper until he bottomed out and couldn't go any farther. Violet let out a gasp as she felt him fill her all the way up, wrapping her legs around him to feel every single inch. Tate didn't move, he just let himself be surrounded by her, their eyes meeting and lips locking deeply.

This time, Violet initiated the pace as she began bucking her hips, pressing into him and getting the momentum going again. She felt him grind hard against her clit, that familiar, tingly feeling rising in her once more.

"Tate I- keep going! I'm…I'm gonna…" she didn't get to finish before she hit the brink again, waves of pleasure washing over her. Tate watched her expression, simply overtaken with pure ecstasy, and felt his own end coming as well. Quicker than he had anticipated, Tate pounded deep into her as he felt himself cum over and over again, filling her up, unable to fathom the extreme pleasure and release that he felt at that very moment.

Covered in sweat and exhausted, Tate didn't want to move. He didn't want to pull himself out of her, become disconnected once again. If he had it his way, nothing ever needed to change from this moment on. He was perfectly content in this moment for the rest of eternity. Violet smoothed his hair, placing gentle, sporadic kisses atop his head. Tate lay his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat drum out a lullaby.

"I have waited eight months for this moment," Violet breathed. Tate smirked, exhaustion taking over. Secret thoughts were creeping up on him, things that he knew they would have to face…but for now he just knew it could all wait. After all, after Violet learned the horrible things he had done, so much more than she already knew, there was a good chance he would never have a moment like this with her again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Porcelain**

Chapter 5

"The Honeymoon stage" couldn't describe the couple well enough. Set aside one place, not a single inch of the house was left "unchristened" by Tate and Violet's insatiable hunger for one another. The basement, the attic, the gazebo, even her parent's room, had been used at one point or another as their haven. The one place left seemed almost taboo, for it was the place that they both equally tried avoiding at all costs.

Even since Violet came home, she had avoided that bathroom by any means necessary, using her parent's or the one downstairs. It didn't go unnoticed by the Harmons; they just chose to ignore it and not make it an issue, for fear that it may set their ever-so-fragile daughter yet again over the edge that she danced so narrowly by.

And now the door called to her, beckoning her as she stared at it from the hallway. What was she so afraid of? It was only a bathroom. It was only a bath tub.

But it wasn't. It was the place she almost lost her life, the place that spiraled her down into a deep, dark place that she knew she could fall back into. The truth was that it wasn't that porcelain, claw-foot bathtub she was so scared of; it was what it could have been. It could have been the one thing that joined Tate and Violet together forever.

It seemed so unfair to Violet that stupid teens in her grade could get married and knocked up right out of high school, and yet her idea of 'matrimony' would be frowned upon. Of course, any sane person would find various problems with Violet's logic, but it was now apparent that Violet was no longer sane. You couldn't be sane and live in that house.

She'd heard it too. Ben constantly on the phone with realtors, constantly becoming disappointed and frustrated that his plans for leaving the house were falling through. In all honesty, Ben wasn't the only one becoming desperate. Tate never left Violet alone, ever. And it took everything in her to appear calm and collected when she was caught talking to herself by Ben and Vivien. It was just a matter of time before they realized her 'delusions' were still very much alive and thriving and they threw her back into the hospital. She could sense an end coming, and it would either be living in that house, her ending up in the loony bin again, or her own life.

And she wasn't quite she which one she could expect first.

The truth is, Tate couldn't leave Violet alone. He loved her. He craved her. And he was terrified that the longer she was left to her own devices, the easier it would be to figure things out…

Things like why Michael's hair was blonde, his eyes dark like his daddy's.

"What are you waiting for?" his velvet voice jolted Violet out of her looming thoughts of opening the bathroom door. She backhanded him on the shoulder.

"Jesus Christ, Tate. Why do you always have to sneak up on me like that?" she scoffed, turning her attention away from him and back on the door handle. He snickered into her hair and pulled her into him, watching the door intently with her.

"Gotta face it someday," he murmured quietly. She pierced her lips and closed her eyes. She knew he was right, and she knew that no decision was still a decision. Time was ticking onward and they didn't have long before something broke up their honeymoon phase they were so gladly relished in. But today wouldn't be the day.

Violet turned to him, her hazel eyes pleading. She gripped onto his sweater with both hands and tugged a bit, before a wry smile crossed her lips.

"Come in there with me?" she asked. Tate swallowed hard and his eyes involuntarily shifted back to the door. He choked down a "no," as he nodded hesitantly. He smiled broad.

"Sure, I mean…what kind of loser is afraid of a bathtub?" he teased, lunging forward and opening the door before either of them lost their nerve.

Nothing in the bathroom had changed. Quiet, noon light poured in from the window. Decorative towels graced the cabinets in whites, nudes and teals. Violet's old tooth brush sat, untouched from the last time she had used it. She had gotten a new one to avoid having to come back to this bathroom and retrieve it. Tate shrugged.

"See?" he sighed. "Just a bathroom." But he could not ignore the pain in Violet's eyes as she stared at the bathtub. She reached down and caressed the porcelain with her hand, feeling the cold, smooth textureless surface. Tate intervened. He pulled back the curtain and took a big, gaping step inside of the tub.

"What are you doing?" Violet asked, bewildered. He reached his hand out to her, his dark, determined eyes smiling at her through tousled, blonde locks. She melted.

"Here, come here," he ordered, but it came out as a plea. She stared back at him, her lips itching for his as she admired his heart and his determination to free her of this demon, no matter what it could be making him feel inside. He was always so brave. Violet smiled, teeth this time, and took his hand, climbing in without a second thought.

Tate pulled close the curtain and hoisted her up in his arms, smiling broadly as he kissed her face; her chin, her nose, her forehead. It didn't matter as long as he his lips could find skin. She giggled involuntarily as she ran her hand through his unkempt curls, reciprocating the affection he was giving to her. Tate sat Violet to her feet so he could remove his shirt. Violet's eyes widened as she peeked out of the curtain, to the door.

"Tate, we can't- not here-" she attempted. Tate shushed her with a long, wet, passionate kiss. Violet felt dizzy when they pulled away; then again, she always did. Tate smiled with evil in his eyes.

"Vivien is at a Mommy and Me class with Michael." He brushed her hair from her eyes and reached down to cup her pussy over her dress. Violet gasped at his forceful contact. "And your dad has a client," he purred into her ears. That was enough.

Violet fell to her knees as she feverously unbuttoned Tate's pants, his hard cock springing to life instantly. With passionate longing, Violet took him into her mouth, deeply, instantly feeling him on the back of her throat as she bobbed up and down on his long, thick shaft. Tate moaned deeply, taking ahold of the back of her head to move her up and down on his at his own pace, instantly feeling as though he could burst at any moment. Violet reached behind him for any kind of leverage, accidently turning on the shower, freezing, full force on Tate's back.

Tate jumped from the shock of the cold water, laughing and shrieking at the same time as Violet laughed at the sight. There he was, drenched in cold water as she sat on her knees, trying desperately to gain some kind of footing. The two laughed together until Tate was able adjust the heat setting, covering them in warm water raining down on them.

Violet didn't even take off her dress. Her wet hair lay flat, her face submerged as she hoisted a foot up to the ledge of the tub, grabbed the curtain rod with one hand and Tate's shoulder with the other as he held her up by her pert, little ass. Slowly, without losing eye contact, Violet lowered herself onto Tate's hard, waiting cock. The warmth of being inside her was always too much for Tate, but he was determined to take it slow, carefully edging his way in and out of her, slowly to feel every inch of her.

Violet writhed on top of him, ready for instant gratification from the amazing sensation she got from Tate filling her up. She rose and lowered, rose and lowered, over and over again until her pace began to quicken, feeling the walls inside of her contract and constrict, pulling him in and pushing him out all at the same time. The water fell over them like a tropical waterfall, and for a moment they were transcended from that bathroom to somewhere else, somewhere alone and private. Violet felt her orgasm growing inside of her, her pace quickening and her panting grew to moaning, which grew to almost screams of ecstasy as she bounced up and down on Tate's ever-growing erection.

Tate cupped his hand over Violet's mouth as he continued to plow into her, his legs becoming tired but the stamina keeping him going. He felt his end near, boiling up inside him. It was only a couple more pumps now before…

"Ugh!" Tate moaned as he felt himself unload into Violet, one hot stream of cum at a time. Violet panted for air, her own end having come just seconds before.

"Violet?" Violet heard a familiar, bellowing voice ask from the door. Violet pulled back the curtain in a panic and peered out, Ben staring back at her from the doorway.

"Dad, I'm showering! Get out!" She squealed. Ben's cheeks pinked as he closed the door quickly behind him. Violet's heart began to calm as she looked back at Tate, quietly smirking and putting his cock back into his pants. Violet began to giggle, then chuckle, and before she knew it she was laughing. Tate laughed too.

"Let's get outta here," Tate suggested, reaching for the faucet handle. Violet reached for his hand and stopped him.

"No.." she said quietly. Tate stared back, bewildered. "I need to clean the cum off my legs, first," she smiled.


End file.
